


Of Whiskey and Rainstorms

by MistyMay2503



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Banter, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Oneshot, tahnorra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMay2503/pseuds/MistyMay2503
Summary: Of all the people she expected to see in the middle of nowhere, he might as well have been the last. The memory of their last exchange was burned so vividly into her mind, the way his hands trembled when she returned his bending- kneeled before her, clutching her pelt wrap, shaking, shaking, shaking. He stood carefully the water rushing to his fingers, the element they shared returning to his beck and call, and she could feel it too, vibrating with life -push and pull. He held it like a wounded animal, afraid that maybe if he moved too fast it would leave him again. She recognized the feeling, the fear."Let me buy you a drink, Avatar."One-Shot (Between Book 3 & 4)
Relationships: Korra/Tahno (Avatar)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65





	Of Whiskey and Rainstorms

Her feet ache as she falls into a stool at another quiet Earth Kingdom bar. To be truthful, everything ached these days. Another town, another squabble with someone she still isn’t strong enough to beat. Her mind flashes to a half-baked Avatar in training- _ponytails, twisted limbs-_ it’s been a long time since she felt this weak, like she could snap in half with just a well placed jab. She can feel her back lighting up with ugly bruises from some no-good thug she tried to teach a lesson, and really she’s not sure why she even tried. You’d think she’d know how these things end by now - blooming bruises, lumps in her throat, the word “failure” dancing on the tip of her tongue.

She may be able to heal herself with some advanced flexibility, but something about stewing in her own defeat just seemed right tonight. _It’s deserved,_ she thinks, and even if it’s not it doesn’t really matter. It’s especially pathetic because she had actually thought she might win this one, _silly girl_. It started out like every other fight, fire sparking knowingly at her fingertips, and for a moment she feels better than ever; she feels all too alive, but then she sees herself once again- _chained, feral, and what made her think she could do this_. The fight was over before it really began, she realizes. It’s been a long time since any fight seemed even remotely fair to her. Even Zaheer had to poison her to get what he wanted, and even though the papers say that he lost, she’s not so sure anymore because this sure as hell doesn’t feel like winning.

In her past 6 months of travel, she had found more questions than answers, more variables than equations. Sometimes she wonders if maybe she just doesn’t know where to look. Maybe she’s just chasing all the wrong red flags. She thought this solo trip would be good- _for whom, she’s not sure anymore_ \- especially after two years of intensive supervision in the South Pole, but really, she just feels emptier than ever. She orders a gin and swirls the olive around before taking a sip. It burns a bit going down, but she doesn’t mind. The alcohol warms her from the inside, and after a few more drinks, she feels a peaceful numbness. She can almost forget about gray eyes and red lotus but _let us not get ahead of ourselves_ she thinks wryly _._ The nagging ache of the bruises begins to subside, stinging pain replaced with the dull ache of another embarrassing defeat. She doesn’t even recognize him when he throws himself onto the empty barstool next to her and orders a whiskey on the rocks, but she does recall thinking what a dumb drink that was.

Maybe it’s because she’s no stranger to men who drink too much and invite her back to their too small, too hot apartments under the ruse of a nightcap. The whiskey drinkers are the worst, no tact just greedy hands that wander a little too much and lidded eyes that drink in her curves lazily. Despite this, sometimes she still takes them up on their offers, stumbling out of the bar with them, leaving pieces of her pride in quiet alleys. Traveling the world looking for answers is lonelier than she had expected, or maybe she knew all along it would be lonely - _maybe it’s what she deserves_. She has never felt shame in these stolen, sloppy kisses and breathy moans in another bed- _release._ Despite this, she always wakes up before dawn and slips away. She has a rule. There’s no need to feign pleasantries over stale coffee and rubbery eggs the next morning.

These affairs are seldom satisfying; they are too quick, too cold, too empty. She longs for something deeper. Her mind goes to still summer nights with Mako full of fire and warmth- _golden eyes, calloused, electric fingers-_ and she knows these are just a cheap, lazy alternative. But beggars cannot be choosers, right? _Right,_ she assures herself, but she’s not quite sure it’s true. The truth is, she’d rather not think about how sometimes she’s too damn tired of sleeping alone to be picky, and _since when did you ever need somebody to take care of you, Avatar_? She shakes her head, realizing she’s too drunk tonight to fake enjoyment, so when the stranger sits next to her, she readies herself to leave, fishing some money out of her pocket and throwing it on the bar before kicking the stool back.

“Leaving so soon, Uhvatar?”

Her feet stop in their tracks.

_“Tahno?”_

Of all the people she expected to see in the middle of nowhere, he might as well have been the last. The memory of their last exchange was burned so vividly into her mind, the way his hands trembled when she returned his bending- _kneeled before her, clutching her pelt wrap, shaking, shaking, shaking._ He stood carefully the water rushing to his fingers, the element they shared returning to his beck and call, and she could feel it too, vibrating with life - _push and pull_. He held it like a wounded animal, afraid that maybe if he moved too fast it would leave him again- _she recognized the feeling_. She too had cradled the elements like children after Aang had returned them to her – _fleeting gifts_. She returned a lot of peoples bending after Amon’s carnage, felt pieces of people return, but that moment with Tahno stood out as something more. Bending was not just something he did, it was an integral part of him. He didn’t say much after, nothing but a whispered thank you and a low bow, but they shared something then- _a moment? an element? a fleeting gift from the spirits_? – she still wasn’t quite sure.

The years had been kind to him, his face seemed somewhat softer than she remembered, still angular but nowhere near as hard. Long, dark hair had been trimmed short to reveal stormy gray eyes. She can’t quite remember if they’ve always been that color; she could have sworn they were blue, maybe green. Gray is dangerous, she knows this now, and even before he has a chance to say anything else, she is readying her defenses- _fight, flight, freeze._ He has an elbow on the bar and a pale hand wrapped around a drink. His garb is casual, dressed down to assimilate with the earth nation locals. She can already sense how tense he is too, long arms stressed tight underneath a green tunic. Perhaps she was not the only one surprised to see a familiar face so far from home.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her tone is curt, and after so many moons alone, there is a sharpness to it. Like a deer in the headlights, her instincts scream to flee- _run, run, run-_ but her legs feel stuck in the earth below her.

“I could ask the same,” he says, loosening his grip on his drink. It’s a subtle movement, but she notices it. “Nobody has seen the Avatar in years,” he states plainly. And he’s right, she knows he’s right. She should be out rebuilding the Earth Kingdom, but instead she’s drinking herself numb and running from the weight of cloying responsibility, running away from blue eyes and chains, and it would be silly to stop running because of this boy, _this man,_ she barely knows anymore.

“I should go,” she says because now seems like a great time to sprint, a great time to put as much distance between themselves as she possible can, a great time to never look back. And then she’s spinning on her heels, not waiting for his response because _why the hell should I._

_Flight_

“Wait,” he reaches out and grabs her wrist, “stay a while, let me buy you a drink.” When he drops her hand, her wrist feels like a ring of fire.

“And why would I do that?” she quips back turning her shoulders carefully towards him. She should leave, really; she knows she should turn around and walk away. She shouldn’t even be giving him the chance to convince her to stay because her failures are just too fresh, and when she looks at him all she can think about is probending and loss and how she’s somehow still not over it. She wonders, not for the first time, where Amon is now, and how long it will be before he too resurfaces.

“Why not?” he smirks, and maybe she’s just lonely – _drunk-_ because this seems like an okay – _not terrible -_ idea. The next morning, she’s sure she’ll blame nostalgia because the last time she saw this man she was different: faster, stronger, fearless in the face of evil, and maybe, she can pretend like nothing had changed when she’s toe to toe with an old rival.

_Don’t be stupid, Korra, everything has changed._

So, she sits, and he orders her another strong drink that she doesn’t touch. It’s quiet for a while. She rests her elbows on the bar and clicks her nails on the side of the icy glass, not quite sure what he expects her to say. She sneaks a glance at him, he’s relaxed a bit, but his jaw is still tight, and he too seems lost for words. The rest of the bar buzzes with the excited whispers of regulars. Hard working locals winding down and tuckering in. In another world, she may have been like them. How much simpler that life seemed.

“You never answered my question,” Tahno muses from next to her, breaking the silence, “What are you doing all the way out here? Last I heard you were in the South Pole.”

“Guess I got lost on my way back to Republic City,” she shrugs before finally relenting and taking a sip of the drink. It feels like courage. “What’s your excuse, Pretty Boy?” she mocks, turning her head to meet his too gray eyes. She didn’t mean to sound so combative, but he didn’t seem to mind, a chuckle escaping his lips because there’s nothing like sparring with an old enemy.

“What’s it to you?” he shrugs, knowing the noncommittal tone will egg her on, and just like that their unfinished game is back on- _you_ _wanna to go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?_

“If I had remembered how fucking insufferable you were, I would’ve just left,” she quips, pushing further, digging in a little bit more, clawing desperately to this dance they used to do so well. “Besides, you’re the one that insisted I stay, so you might as well start talking.” And it feels good to fall back into this banter, she feels like herself- _eye to eye, tiptoes, polar bear dogs._

“Language, Avatar,” he smirks, “I don’t remember you being so crass. Maybe those street urchin brothers have had a bad influence on you.” He pushes further, it is a measured jab, enough to rile her up but not too much as to scare her away. It doesn’t take a genius to see she is coming apart at the seams, all bruises and black eyes. She is wild and he is intrigued.

“You leave them out of this,” she snaps dangerously, a familiar bite on her tongue, and he knows his hits are landing.

“Touchy subject, I see.”.

Her shoulders are tense, “You know nothing about my friends.”

“Friends?” he says coolly, “So things didn’t work out with that firebender? Pity, but he never struck me as the type who could handle a woman like you”

She scoffs loudly, “And you think you could? Besides, my love life is none of your business.”

“So, he couldn’t?” Tahno returns. And it feels silly to bring up wounds from 4 years ago, but the whiskey is making him feel warm and her squirms are delicious- _and the last time we fought you took a cheap shot at me, Avatar, so now it’s my turn._

 _“_ Wouldn’t you like to know?” she sneers, “Are you jealous or something, creep?”

“What are they up to now that their fearless leader abandoned them?” He makes it a point to avoid her questions because he knows he is already winning.

“Why does it matter?” she spits, and she feels herself stumbling, one step behind him never quite keeping up. She doesn’t know why she feels so flustered because the truth is it does matter what they’re doing because at least they’re moving forward, and she is stuck, and she would give anything to be moving forward too. “Besides, they’re doing better than a washed-up bending star like you,” she seethes, desperately trying to regain her footing.

“And what about you?” he fires back, locking eyes with her, leaning in closer until she can feel his whiskey breath on her face “Are you doing better than a washed up bending star like me?” He thinks he knows the answer, and he thinks maybe he pushed too far judging by the way her nails are digging into the wooden bar and her eyes are scanning for an escape- _ready to run_ \- , but then she’s turning her whole body towards him and her eyes lock on his.

“I’ve been a bit too busy saving the world to worry about you.” It feels like a lie. “Besides, if it wasn’t for me you’d probably still be drinking yourself to death.” And maybe she’s right, his eyes are guarded and it’s hard to tell if she knows too much about him or too little.

_Have you changed at all?_

He motions mockingly to the pile of empty glasses in front of her, “How the tables do turn, Avatar.” And it feels like a low blow even for him because the truth is, he’d be dead without the gift she had returned to him, and he knows now that it is a gift. But their game- _their fight, their dance_ \- is hitting its crescendo and it would be a waste to not see it through to the bitter end.

“Don’t presume to know me,” she snarls, balling her fists and digging, digging, digging her nails into her palm. “You know, I didn’t come her to get interrogated.” She is wild, feral, free, and it feels good to bite back, to let loose, but she can already feel herself slipping, and she can’t keep this act up much longer.

“Then why did you come here?”

_The drums, the crescendo, the final blow._

_Fight, Korra._

“I don’t know, okay,” she stammers, falters, falls. She feels the ground below her open, the air leaves her lungs, and maybe she does know why deep down. _Gray eyes, poison, not enough air, not enough time._

“Maybe you ought to figure that out,” he muses, but the words are softer this time, no more poison, no more precision. There is nothing left to prove.

“Whatever,” she mumbles, suddenly too tired to read into the quiet hum in his voice. She’s not a fool, this is just another battle she has lost- _another tally._ She can feel her body closing in on itself, her arms pulling in like an armadillo bear. Nowhere left to run, nobody left to hit.

_Freeze._

And he’s surprised to feel a kinship with her, to know what it feels to be a shell of oneself, to freeze at the exact wrong time – _a mask, a glove, a hand –_ and to lose everything you thought you needed. It begins raining outside, wind whipping the thin walls, storm clouds rolling in, and he wonders if the sound of raindrops on the thin roof awaken something in her too. There is quiet for a few minutes as she tries desperately to regain ground, to realign, to balance, but it all feels useless now. She can sense the change in him, the way he tentatively leans his elbows on the bar, calling the bartender for another drink. The movement is steady but slow, not quite sure what to make of her when she is not running or fighting, truth be told, she doesn’t know either.

“I was visiting family in the swamps,” he shrugs into his new drink, and he feels like he owes her an explanation after their impromptu game of cat and mouse. Maybe it doesn’t matter what he says now, maybe she doesn’t even care, why would she, and for the first time all night he feels vulnerable like a fire ferret with an exposed stomach. “That’s why I’m here.” His throat is dry and he can feel his palms sweat a bit. He’s not quite sure what this new game it, but he doesn’t know if he likes it.

Her head tilts a bit to catch his eye – _her eyes are too blue,_ he decides - breath caught in her throat. She is stuck somewhere between confusion and understanding, her short hair brushing softly against her shoulders, “I never realized you were from the swamps.” There’s more she wants to say, but she can’t quite find the words as she unfurls some of her armor, laying a hand softly on the bar.

“Not me, my mother,” he shrugs. It feels intimate to be telling her about his family. He’s worked hard to keep people like her far away because she can’t help but try and fix, with those stupid round eyes – _too blue –_ and those lips that part just slightly, waiting for more, more, more. He watched her try and fix the brothers, the Sato girl, a broken city. It’s in her nature.

“She passed a while ago, I felt like maybe it was time to face it.” It hangs between them, a solid mass of confession and everything in him wants to take it back. She doesn’t need this or want this, and her life is probably hard enough without pretending to have to care about his problems, and _you selfish asshole, how could you make this ab-_

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”

Her words are soft, if she feels pity for him, she is doing a good job of hiding it. He’s no fool though, he notes the way she unfurls in front of him, no longer feeling like the weakest link of their little sympathy party. “Why would you?” he quips back, and they both know this is an invitation to play an entirely different game now. He’s upped the ante – _I raise you a tragic life event, Avatar, what do you have for me._ He can feel her discomfort, words sitting on her tongue begging to manifest. He wonders how long she has been holding onto them, who else she has told or not told. His invitation hangs between them, an unspoken challenge.

_Wanna go toe to toe with me?_

“I think I’m broken.”

The words shock her even before they’re all the way out. And before she can figure out her next move, she’s throwing down all her cards. “I can’t go into the avatar state. I can’t get to the spirit world. Hell, I can’t even land a fucking punch, and I thought that maybe I could figure it out.”

_A royal flush for the Avatar_

Her shoulders are tight, veins poking beneath skin that doesn’t quite fit. Her jaw tenses up and she look away from him. He can see the shame on her face, he recognizes it. After losing his bending, that was all he had felt for a long time.

“And…” he presses, “Did you figure it out?” They both know the answer, asking is just a formality.

“Do you think if I had figured it out, I’d be entertaining you right now?” she growls before sighing and releasing the tension in her shoulders. “I feel like I’m going crazy.” She leans back in her chair and winces when she remembers the bruise forming there. The pain does not go unnoticed.

“You’re hurt.” Tahno says. There’s no concern in his voice; he was less so asking a question and more so stating a fact.

“I’m fine,” she lies, crossing her arms to cover her stomach. He doesn’t buy it, and she knows she’s caught. “I’ve had worse, Pretty Boy.” And she wonders how much he knows about broken legs and poison and cracked spines. The papers tend to gloss over things like traumatic injury.

“I can heal you,” he shrugs. Finishing off his drink and throwing some money down on the counter. Lightning strikes close by lighting up the bar for a split second.

She scoffs, “And why would you do that?” The suggestion seems preposterous because in what world does she need help from scumbags like him and, of course, there must be an ulterior motive.

“Call it returning a favor,” he shrugs and leans in a little closer. “You aren’t the only one who’s been broken before, Korra.” It’s then he realizes that he’s never said her name out loud before. It’s harder on his tongue than he expected, solid. Saying it feels like condensation leaving his mouth, like walking through Republic City on a crisp winter morning. He decides he likes saying it, likes the way it rolls off his tongue and sits in the air around them.

“I have a room at an inn not far from here,” he says, “come with me.” He notices how she bristles at the suggestion and moves quickly to remedy it. “No funny business,” he assures her, raising his hands jokingly – _unless of course you’d like that._

“No funny business,” she repeats like she’s trying to convince herself even though they both know that the game has once again changed. She’s finding it hard to understand how the rules keep changing, and the pace at which things are moving is leaving her breathless. Even though she knows this is a bad idea, she feels out of control, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol or the way the bar lights are hitting his angular cheeks just right.

It’s still pouring when they leave the bar and begin walking down muddy alleys. Neither really minds, two master waterbenders need not fear a summer storm. She wonders if he feels it too, the implication of what they are doing – _no funny business._ He sneaks a glance at her beside him, water clumping in her eyelashes, hair plastered to the side of her head, and what he wouldn’t give to possess her in this moment. Even 6 inches apart, he can feel the nervous heat radiating off of her exposed arms and he wonders what it would feel like to pin them to the alley wall and give in because even after all these years, the thought of taking the world’s strongest creature is alluring and intoxicating, and…

_No funny business._

Because he meant what he said about returning the favor, and this isn’t about his desires, this is about her. At least he thinks it is, and, okay, maybe it’s a little bit about him too because he’s never been able to shake the feeling that any thank you he’s ever tried to give her has come up short. _No funny business,_ he repeats. She is quiet next to him, contemplative, and he wonders, not for the first time, if she does this often. He is no stranger to this walk back to sleazy apartments in the city, anticipation so sweet and gnawing, he knows this dance well. The game is changing, he knows this, but the next move is not his to make.

By the time they make it back to his room, both their clothes are soaked through but neither seems to care as they take an external staircase up to locked door. He fumbles with a key and ushers her in before him. The room is large and warm with a plush bed and couch. He motions for her to sit on the couch as he grabs water. She sits cautiously, feeling a bit like a trapped animal but trying to remain calm because this is not a cage, this is a choice. She can feel the tension in the air between them even before he returns with a basin of water. The unspoken _what ifs_ and _if onlys_ and _only ifs_ hang around her, and she’s grateful for the water soaking her clothes, for the comfort of being surrounded by her natural element. Slick and familiar. The element of change. _A changing game, a changing battle, a changing world._

Tahno motions to her shirt, not quite sure how to proceed because he doesn’t know the rules anymore, maybe he never did. Any other women he’d tear the shirt off of, throw it across the room, and demand they drop to their knees, but she is not any other woman. She is Korra. Her hands find purchase under the hem of her shirt and she lifts in quickly over her head, her movements cold and stiff revealing tanned skin and white wrappings. The skin below is marred by too many battles, and even though he knew that she had gotten hurt badly by The Red Lotus, the extent of her wounds is still surprising and maybe he understands a little more why she’s been gone for so long. He spots the bruise is question blooming like a tigerlilly across her side. He sits down next to her, grabbing her elbow and turning her gently to see the extent. She moves with his, turning to cross her legs on the couch. He feels her tense under his touch, too much skin, too little space between the two. The bruise is about the size of a melon, maybe a little larger with ugly black and blue edges.

_Spirits, woman._

He touches the injury on her back gingerly, trying to figure out where to start. He feels her tremble underneath his fingers, a ball of nerves and stress- _and maybe fear?-_ and suddenly he is afraid of moving too quickly or pushing back too hard, and for the first time tonight he wonders if he was the only one playing this game the whole time because more than anything she seems scared and small. He draws some water to his hand and places them experimentally on her back focusing on the burst vessels and twisted nerves. And if he is the only one playing tonight, he’s more than willing to surrender – _call is a draw -_ if it means paying off his debt to her. _No funny business._ And she’s so tense that the water refuses to penetrate, so he leans forward, and whispers for her to _relax_.

She shudders and he can physically feel her collapse in on herself, and he lets out breath he didn’t know he was holding because maybe they both need this, and maybe this moment is better than sex because for once he doesn’t feel like he’s using her for his own gain or amusement. They are still wet, slick with change, and he can feel the water in their clothes soaking into the couch, but he doesn’t care about that anymore, he’ll deal with that later.

His hands are cold, but his touch leave tiny fires where pain once was. Her stomach feels warm with heat. He is being impossibly gentle – _Tahno? Gentle?-_ and she leans tentatively into his touch, silently encouraging him to apply more pressure. He abides, working skilled fingertips into angry flesh feeling her melt into the relief. He wonders how long it’s been since she was touched so tenderly, and he wants to do more. He owes her more, damnit. So once he’s done all he could to the bruise, he works his hands up slowly to her shoulders. She gasps quietly when she feels his hands touch the back of her neck, but she doesn’t stop him. Suddenly she feels so small, so inconsequential, as his hands rub out the knots and heal the bruises she didn’t even know she had, and then their traveling slowly down her arms, interlacing fingers, pushing and pulling like the tides and she could cry at how good it feels to surrender like this. His breath is warm on the back of her neck, so close yet so far away. He smells like whiskey and aftershave and moss and her head falls a little, resting near his shoulder.

He can feel himself getting greedy, and knows he needs to stop soon. Her body is too much, too alive and warm, and he can hear he breath hitch with every inch he touches. His face is in the crook her neck, and he knows if he goes any further, there will be no turning back. _No funny business, no funny business, no funny business, a mantra._ He’s gone too far again, overreached. He halts his hands and backs away cautiously, slowly until there is too much couch between them, the water falling onto the wood floors with a splash, forgotten. And before she even realizes what has happened, he’s sputtering an apology because _I really don’t know what got into me._

But her body is on fire – _too little skin, too much space –_ and when she looks at him all he sees in those stupid eyes is longing. Before he has the chance to consider the implications, she is making the next move, crawling towards him on the wet couch reaching, reaching, reaching for something – _for more, for him._ Then her lips are on his, and it isn’t the crash that he expected; it is soft, tentative, like a pebble thrown into Yue Bay, like she’s testing the water, dipping a toe in. He freezes under her touch, hands still awkwardly hovering between them not sure what he should be doing because he wants this too, _spirits does he want this,_ but he’s not sure if this is fair to either of them.

He feels her draw back and can already see the red blooming in her cheeks, shame, but before she can spit out an apology, he has decided that this is worth the risk. He moves forward, and this time when their lips meet, it’s a crash. He wraps his arms around her, one snaking around her waist pulling her body close to his, the other winding itself into her wet hair and he can hear her gasp into his mouth. Her hands move to cup his face, fingers digging into the expanse of his cheeks as she pushes back harder, all lips and teeth and tongue.

His own tongue slips into her mouth, a fight for dominance. He can feel her hands trailing lower, past his exposed neck, brushing the sensitive skin of his clavicle, and he growls as they hook underneath his tunic, calloused fingers demanding more, and he obliges, breaking their lips to let her rip it haphazardly of his body. She stops to admire what is revealed, hard expanses of pale skin, her fingers trace up until her palm rests on his heart, and he lets her listen for a moment, wondering if she feels as alive as he does right now. Unable to wait any longer, he leans forward, capturing her neck in his mouth, sucking gently. She gasps, shifting her head to grant him more, nails digging into to the sensitive skin of his back, and then he’s pushing her down onto the damp couch, holding himself above her with strong forearms, one leg resting between her thighs as he leans down to place warm wet kisses on the exposed skin of her stomach. And even though it’s absurd, she can’t help but giggle at he way his eyelashes are brushing against her stomach. She’s pretty sure this must be bliss.

He raises his head, quirking an eyebrow, “You think this is funny, Avatar.” Before she can answer, his hands are slipping underneath her wrapping, and her laughs turn to heady breaths as her whole body rolls up to meet his.

_The game is afoot, and she has never been more ready to play._

_._

_.._

_._

When she wakes up the next morning, he is curled around her like a polar bear dog, and for a split second she considers staying for rubbery eggs and stale coffee, but she knows that it’s against her rules. _No funny business._ There is no more liquid courage to muddle the headache that’s blooming in her temple. Besides, she’s never been very good at goodbyes, so instead, she carefully untangles herself from him and gathers her clothes, still wet from the night before. She bends them dry and gets dressed. She thinks maybe she should leave a note because he isn’t like the others, really, and she doesn’t want him to think that she used him, but, ultimately, she decides a clean break is better. Her hand is on the door when she hears him shift in the bed.

“Running away again?”

She turns to see him raised onto his elbow, one hand wiping the sleep from his eyes, and she wants to tell him that _it’s not like that, Tahno, really, it’s been so long since anyone made me feel so alive, but we both know that I’m a mess and I’ve got things I need to figure out._

Instead, she shrugs and puts her hands in her pocket, “I just thought that maybe it would be better if I left.”

“Better or easier?”

Both, she thinks. _Better for you, easier for me._ Because he still doesn’t know how completely messed up she is, and maybe if she leaves now, he doesn’t have to. She shifts uncomfortably because for the first time she is not quite sure what to say, how to express to him that staying was never part of any scenario she had imagined, that she always planned to run eventually.

“I just- I should go,” she stammers.

“I’m not your enemy, Korra,” he says, and he sounds a little exasperated, because he is feeling exhausted by her self-hatred. How can he convince her that she is worthy of the space she is occupying in his room, _in his mind_?

“I never stay for coffee,” she says, “I have a rule.” It’s technically the truth, but she knows that it’s a cop out, a reason not to look back.

_“Any rules against tea?”_

She releases the breath she was holding and quirks her head to the side carefully, and the way her eyes - _those lovely blue eyes-_ light up with something akin to optimism makes him chuckle.

"I guess not."

He smiles, a genuine, tentative smile, “Good." Then he is rising and filling a kettle, and suddenly, the game is over, and neither is quite sure who has come out on top, maybe it doesn't really matter, maybe it never really did. 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It’s been about 5 years since I wrote anything, but quarantine had me feeling antsy, so I figured now was as a good a time as any. Also my first time posting on AO3. It was really fun to throw myself into writing again. I really hope you enjoy this little oneshot!


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